


The Eighth Course

by gardnerhill



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Blow Jobs, Episode: s03e03 The Girl Next Door, Explicit Sexual Content, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair <i>warned</i> them that the meal was an aphrodisiac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eighth Course

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately after the ending of the Sentinel episode "Girl Next Door."

Joel Taggart shook his head and kept eating his dessert. By now he'd learned that Blair Sandburg had a master's degree in B.S. Simon's and Jim's unconcerned consumption of the date-surprise proved there was nothing to fear; they, too, knew Blair's gift for creative lying. "Under the sink until it gets good and moldy"—as if Jim would _let_ anything in this apartment get moldy!

 

Blair himself had eaten nothing; there wasn't enough for four, he claimed, and he'd already had something earlier when under station arrest in Simon's office. Now Sandburg only sat on the sofa back, plucking his guitar and watching the three older men en joy his food with the proprietary air of a pleased cook. Someone had to enjoy the food—the kid had originally prepared it for that shady girlfriend of his, insisting that the seven-course meal was a proven aphrodisiac...

 

Taggart smiled at more proof of Sandburg B.S. and kept eating the delicious dessert. He just loved the kid's cooking, weird as it was. Weird as the kid himself was.

 

He loved the kid, too, come to think of it. Blair Sandburg was like something exotic that had fallen into the squad room, with all the subtlety of Anansi the Trickster from his grandmother's bedtime stories. Blair's knowledge and enthusiasm was overwhelming at times, but just when you were ready to dismiss him as an annoyingly perky civilian, a deep strong well of courage would rise to the surface and stun everyone. Joel would never forget that look of terror on Blair's face his first day at the station as he lied about his police standing to the man pointing a gun between his eyes—after he'd taken down two terrorists without firing a shot.

 

Taggart had never known anyone like Sandburg in his life. There were times when he thought of Sandburg as a bratty, smart-mouthed kid—and times when Taggart looked at him and saw Yoda, small and strange and wise. And whatever had given the kid the ability to put up with Ellison? It was doing Jim a world of good—he'd become a warmer, kinder man, and he actually had a sense of humor now. Blair was a worthy partner for their best detective. His compassion had extended itself to every member of Jim's community, as Taggart himself well knew. He was even easy on the eyes. Small, lean and sensuous as a cat, wild and beautiful. Kid even smelled good, like...

 

Joel blinked, shook his head, kept eating.

 

***

 

Simon finished his dessert. Then he shifted and groaned at the pressure and heat that demanded satisfaction of another hunger. He stole a quick glare at Sandburg, who only smiled like Mona Lisa and plucked his guitar, swinging his legs. Legs still clad in their ratty jeans, legs Simon was suddenly curious to see without denim in the way.

 

Pleasantly full but not to the point of lethargy, Simon pushed his dessert dish away and frowned at the heavy heat emanating from his groin. Jesus, he was reacting like he'd just gotten out of prison. He looked at Jim and what he saw now was not his best detective and oftentimes pain-in-the-ass Ellison, but Jim's muscle and strength, and he wondered what it would feel like against his hands and mouth; he looked at the kid and focused on Sandburg's high cheekbones and full lips; he looked at _Joel_ , a friend of such long standing, a _friend,_ and wanted to burrow into his arms and be held by him in return. What the hell was going _on?_

 

***

 

Jim was acutely aware of all three men in the room with him—acutely aware with every on-line sense. Simon, a powerful presence, the only man taller than he was, and his authority figure; the only one who'd believed in Jim at his worst. Joel, a steadfast friend to both him and Sandburg, loyal and brave in the face of his own fears. And Blair, definitely the weirdest and most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him, who had given him the tools to control and command his chaotic gift.

 

They looked good; their voices sounded good; and oh, God, did they smell good. _Pheromones,_ he heard some voice explain in the back of his head as he began to react to all three of them and their own hormonal reactions to him and each other. Feedback? But why, then, was Jim suddenly obsessed with the need to know if they tasted and felt as good to his other senses?

 

***

 

"You're not imagining it," Blair said clearly.

 

The other three men started before turning too quickly to stare at him. Chagrin, confusion, and a little fear showed on all those faces—but over all was the look of heat; passion glittered in their eyes like a deep fever. They were reacting to each other, and to him.

 

Blair set aside the guitar he'd been hypnotically strumming during that seventh course the three men had devoured with a hunger beyond that for food. Let the men think that the "secret ingredient" for his special dinner was something to be eaten, not listened to with half an ear. "I told you the truth," he said, and stood up. "This seven-course meal is an aphrodisiac; it heightens your awareness of your senses, and makes you a little less caring of consequences. But I'm prepared for that, too."

 

Casually, Blair turned his back on the three men and headed to the area covered by the four-directions rug before the sofa; he felt three pairs of eyes clinging to him as he pulled his shirt off and then peeled away his undershirt.

 

He'd told them the truth, and they'd sat down to eat anyway; the first act of consent. They'd continued eating the final course after he'd attempted to repel them; the second act of consent.

 

"I know what I want, and I seek it out," he said bluntly, turning to face the staring men.

 

Jim looked at Blair, eyes big and blue, just starting to glaze over with lust. Simon was breathing harder, stroking his own sweating hands, looking at Jim, restraining himself. Taggart looked around at all of them, hands unconsciously loosening his tie and pulling open his jacket. These men were all Blair's friends; he'd worked with them all, recreated with them, saved them and been saved by them. They were tied together in all ways save one.

 

Blair continued as he toed off his shoes. "I want you all, and I want you to want me and each other. If only for now. There will be no coercion. Anyone uncomfortable with what I have in mind can lock himself in the bathroom and handle it himself." He reached for the fly of his jeans, and now he broke his eye contact with them.

 

He risked the loss of his credentials, his ride-along status, his living space, his dissertation subject and his friends with this act. But before this night was over, Blair planned to _make_ Simon notice him for himself alone; he would repay Joel in full for his friendship and support—and he would have his answer from Jim, his beacon for hope or sorrow. This evening would bring either the beginning or the end.

 

He heard their consensus—not in words, but in movement—and by the time his jeans were halfway down his thighs all three men had joined him in the space between the couch and the fireplace. The third act of consent.

 

"So you meant what you said, Chief," Jim said, only a little rough-voiced, gesturing at the folded quilt and sheets on the sofa.

 

Blair nodded and pulled off a sofa cushion, tossing it to the floor.

 

_"What the hell are you doing over there, Sandburg?"_

_Blair set down the stack of sheets and headed to the kitchen to fetch the grape-leaf salad. "This meal is an aphrodisiac, Jim. I have to be prepared in case this thing turns into an orgy."_

_"Very funny. Put this stuff back when you're done playing with it." Jim had taken the salad bowl and set it on the table with no further comments._

Jim was certainly not laughing.

 

With a goal firmly in mind, all four men set to work without a word. The cushions and throw pillows to the floor; the quilt over the cushions; the sheets over the quilt. Blair had secured other items beneath the sofa cushions.

 

"This where you keep the stuff?" Simon said hoarsely, gesturing at the bottles and foil packets that had been tucked into a mundane piece of living-room furniture.

 

"Don't look at me," Jim growled, straightening and pulling off his shirt; but there was more lust than annoyance in that sound. "Never seen it before."

 

 _And may never see again._ Blair flopped in a sprawl in a corner of the pallet and watched the others gradually match his state of undress, quelling his fear. If this was his sole time with Jim, by God he'd _enjoy_ it.

 

Trousers were neatly draped over chair backs to retain their crease; Simon set down his glasses on the end table, where they nestled beside Blair's; shirts and ties and shorts and socks were treated more cavalierly as more skin was bared, releasing more pheromones into the air. There was a tangle of underthings with no sure set of owners, and just _whose_ was that gold lamé thong—

 

But everyone had something better to look at than undergarments. Jim and Simon were the physical powerhouses; Simon was nearly as broad and developed as Ellison, and he was taller than the man. Taggart was round and heavy, solid as an oak; he displayed grace in the curve of his shoulders and neck, promise in his hands. Blair hoped they'd find him interesting enough.

 

For a long moment all four men looked at each other, stirring heat warring with awkwardness and nervousness. But just as Blair was about to stand up and start something, Simon growled, "Hell," and seized Jim, taking him by the back of the neck and pulled him forward into a kiss. Jim's arms went around his captain immediately, holding him tight.

 

Blair smiled at the display even as Joel dropped to sit beside him. They watched Jim and Simon go at it, watched the counterbalance of light and dark muscles tense and flex against each other into a duel of grappling bodies, heavy rising cocks slapping each other's thighs and leaving glistening streaks behind.

 

As Simon dragged a softly-cursing Jim slowly and inexorably to the floor, Blair's breathing jumped a notch as two big hands took hold of his ass.

 

"Not too big for you, am I, Blair?" Joel said in a low tone.

 

Blair turned to face Taggart, prepared to ask if he himself wasn't too skinny and hairy for Joel, and saw what the man meant. All thoughts of what Jim and Simon were doing fled his brain. Christ. "I'd better defuse that stick of dynamite before someone gets hurt," he said, and grinned.

 

Taggart laughed and pulled Blair forward into a hug, reaching one hand to stroke the top of Blair's head. "You're crazy," he whispered affectionately.

 

Blair hugged him back; Joel was so big and warm. He laughed softly as Joel found Blair's hair-tie and deftly undid it with the grace of a man who daily dealt with delicate wires and fuses, and buried his big hands in the loose mass of hair. Cops. They all ragged him about his hair, but they all fixated on it...

 

There was something exotic about Blair that tugged at Joel. But how could a skinny white man with too much hair and too much jewelry mess with his mind?

 

Their position was perfect for kissing, and the men soon found they were both very good at it. Blair's groin tightened as he began to react to Joel, to the powerful masculinity stroking furrows in his belly and the captivating tenderness holding him close. Pulling away from Taggart's arms and ignoring the man's groan of frustration, Blair groped for a condom, peeled it, and popped it in his mouth. Before Joel could do more than look puzzled, Blair bent over the man's groin, gripped his hips, and began to go down on him, swift and fierce. Joel's sharp broken cries echoed from somewhere behind his back; all of Blair's attention was fixed on the magnificent thing riding his mouth, riding the deep rocking motions of the flesh beneath him. Joel's big hands locked around his head like a bike helmet while Joel's deep voice cursed Blair and ordered him and pushed his head and mouth down, to a cock that filled his mouth with heat. Joel's mouth caressed his neck and shoulders and back and crooned sweet words to him.

 

When Blair pulled away again, Joel groaned like a creaking timber—and stared in disbelief as Blair sat up and smiled at him. His cock, big and aching, was now neatly sheathed in the condom Blair had had in his mouth. He laughed, and the laugh became a groan as Blair bent to his work again. This kid, was there nothing this kid couldn't do?

 

Heat and movement to one side caught Joel's attention even as he focused once again on the center of activity. He turned to see what was going on.

 

Blair gagged as the cock in his mouth jolted and jerked, thickening faster all at once. Words whispered down on his back. "Watch them, honey," Joel whispered, "watch them."

 

Not the easiest thing to do when your mouth was full, but Blair's eyes focused to the side.

 

Jim was on his back, facing upward, staring at his boss. Jim's face was transformed, as open as the legs Simon spread wide with his hands as the taller man knelt between Jim's thighs. Jim's red cock bounced against his belly as he was hauled back, lifted over another, darker cock, sheathed in latex and glistening with lube. Jim's eyes were wide and almost black with lust, Jim's open mouth gasped breathless wordless sounds, Jim's legs gripped Simon's middle as the union commenced. Jim arched and quivered, mouth and eyes open, unmoving, as all of Simon gradually disappeared into him.

 

Blair lifted his mouth away from Joel's dick long enough to say, clearly and reverently, "Oh, _fuck_ ," and then he let Taggart's hands bear his head down again. He kept his eyes on the other two men, and he could feel Taggart's reaction to watching this feast of flesh.

 

The tangle of muscle shaded in dark brown and beige rubbed against them, pumping together. Both Jim and Simon were such big, powerful men; they were so beautiful together. Jim's eyes rolled up and closed as Simon's big hands clenched hard in Jim's buttocks, pulling him tighter against him, grinning in lust as he fucked.

 

Blair leaned over the entwined men with his mouth open and tasted skin and sweat, muscle and hormones, licked a corded neck. A slick, stretching sensation on his cock made him turn back to see Joel sheathing him, turning his body in position for reciprocation; Blair returned to Taggart's cock even as he was engulfed in wet heat, compressed and suckled. He went deeper, drowning in sensation, the mutuality like feedback, paralyzing him with passion, sinking him deep into sensation, foundering him like a—

 

Without warning, Blair was gripped under the arms from behind and pulled away from Joel, the big cock sliding from his mouth even as his own cock pulled free of Joel's.

 

He was held by hot, sweat-damp brown arms; for a moment, all Blair was aware of was the thick cock riding up hard between his buttocks and under his balls. "Bring him out," Simon said hoarsely, shoving Blair at a crouching, sightless Jim.

 

Bring him—

 

Zone out. Of course.

 

Simon made his way to Taggart, who groped for and held him tight. "Simon, what's wrong with Jim?" the man whispered as Blair crawled to Jim's side and began speaking softly and steadily to the man.

 

Simon stroked Taggart's back. "It's Jim's sense of touch, it's overloaded. He'll be all right, don't worry." He kissed Joel's shoulder.

 

"Touch?" Taggart murmured, stroking his fellow captain's flanks and thighs, eyeing the jutting cock longingly. "How can touch get overloaded?" He wrapped his arms around Simon's waist and pulled him down, Banks' solid height and muscle a sweet contrast to Blair's leaner compactness. "He didn't seem to be any more touched than any of us."

 

Simon began necking and stroking his friend as Blair alternated talking with an occasional shoulder-thump from his fists. "It's something about Jim, Taggart—he can get sensitized to outside things like touch and smell, overloaded with too much sensation. Probably one of those CIA things they don't tell us about. Too much and Jim just goes blank. Sandburg's the only one who can get him out of that place."

 

"Mmm," Taggart said, more interested in tugging a fresh condom onto Simon. He buried his head in the man's lap. Simon groaned in pleasure and bent over Joel's back; his interest in what Blair and Jim were doing vanished.

 

"That's it Jim, come out, come on out, follow my voice..."

 

Jim blinked, stared, looked around. His nostrils flared, and he moved forward, the same look of mindless lust in his eyes, mouth open.

 

Blair's shoulder was engulfed, and then his throat, then his mouth. Blair reciprocated, stroking the sides of Jim's face with all the tenderness inside him as he was gathered and held. He ached. He _wanted_ Jim to pull his legs wide, thrust to the balls in him, wanted to fuck Jim into the floor. It was going to happen, it was—

 

Simon arched and cried. Taggart pulled back. Jim jolted and blinked and looked around. The little moment was broken.

 

Jim blinked and shook his head a little, staring at Blair who was now nose-to-nose with him and still talking. He backed away a little, and Blair stopped talking, resting one hand on Jim's shoulder and leaning in for a kiss. Jim responded, pulled away and rested his forehead against Blair's, a stunningly intimate moment.

 

"Simon," Jim said softly.

 

Blair nodded and crawled over to investigate, passing Taggart going the other way.

 

Simon lay on his side, shuddering and damp with sweat in the aftermath. Every muscle was relaxed and limp. Every one. Including the soft pucker hiding in that round beautiful ass. Blair smiled and took up a squeeze bottle.

 

Oh, Simon was going to _notice_ him, all right.

 

***

 

"You all right, Jim?" Taggart asked as Jim came over on hands and knees, his cock jutting to point the way.

 

Jim shook his head a little. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, Joel. You?"

 

"Never better," Taggart said, and pulled Jim closer. His hand took one of Jim's and wrapped it hard around his cock. "Do something about this, Detective."

 

Jim smiled and said, "Got a better idea." He turned Taggart to face away from him and molded himself to the man's back. Right now he was virile and hungry and Taggart was in his arms and his ass was in Jim's groin.

 

"I see why you put up with him, Jim," Joel breathed as he was pulled against Jim. "Kid's beautiful."

 

"Yes," Jim said softly, arching into position.

 

"So sexy."

 

Jim stroked Joel's back and kissed the spine between the man's shoulder blades. He aimed his lubed cock into the waiting crevice.

 

Joel groaned and was still as Jim sealed against his back, gently guiding himself in.

 

***

Simon was rolled, his bare back covered with kisses. Harsh gasps and guttural cries made Simon lift his head from his semi-prone position, his body pinned by the small strong hands pushing lube between his buttocks and into his ass.

 

_Oh, fuck—oh, fuck—_

Joel was kneeling up and leaning forward on his hands, Jim was kneeling up behind him, Joel's ass tight against Joel's groin and held there by Jim's hands, no space between that tight-pressed flesh, Jim moving, fucking Taggart over and over, Jim arching his head and making animal noises.

 

Simon had seen the size of that cock, had held it in his mouth, he _knew_ what it would take to get all of it up an ass—and there it was, stuffed to the balls in Joel's. Then Blair turned Simon over to face him and Simon had something else to think about.

 

***

 

Jim smelled the latex and the lube on top of the smell of man's sweat and man's flesh, heard the wet sounds change as his flesh stretched Joel taut around his cock over and over. Their balls rolled and struck one another, clinging damp with sweat, exuding musk as Jim moved faster, fucking Joel with the short strokes, his cock growing bigger inside Taggart's ass, riding him hard, jutting into his prostate again, again—

 

Everything overloaded, his own ears deaf to his scream, to the very sound of his cum spewing from his cock, cum splashing and squidging under the condom wrapped around the cock shoved in Joel's guts, sliding easier as it was lubed with sperm. Jim slid sideways, boneless, still transfixing Taggart, in him, Taggart lying beside him, heaving for breath.

 

Smell came back to Jim first. Shampoo, cigar smoke, two familiar sweats. Blair was in Simon's arms, facing him as Simon lay flat on his back, hands busy sheathing Blair and lubing the condomed cock. Blair settled himself between Simon's split legs; Simon's ass lifted up, spread, lowered—Jim felt and heard and smelt the moment of penetration, Blair's dick going into Simon's ass, Simon arching back with a long shuddering howl as he fit himself to Blair, sheath moving onto the sword. Blair's mouth opened wide in a soundless howl of passion; his hindquarters worked.

 

"Sweet ass on that kid," Joel rumbled beside Jim.

 

"Don't I know it," Jim responded, also eyeing that luscious mouth and the knotted figures. "He started it."

 

"And he can finish it," Taggart concluded, following Jim.

 

What Blair and Simon knew was that their bodies were gently but inexorably surrounded. And Blair didn't need Sentinel senses to smell the testosterone and musk heavy in the air, the arousal and sex that closed in on him. He was still up Simon, locked together with the bigger stronger man, moving slowly as he gained his rhythm.

 

But now his head was taken in big warm hands he knew well, his mouth gently thumbed open at the corners. And his ass was surrounded and gently parted by big warm hands he had just learned that evening. Cock before him, cock behind him; both tested his willingness, his openness.

 

He lifted his eyes to the pale legs straddling Simon's torso, the cock waving before his mouth, the eyes like blue fire.

 

"Can you play with the big dogs, Chief?" Jim whispered, bent over, Blair's head held firmly in those big hands near Jim's groin, Jim's thumbs sliding into his mouth. "Can you play with all of them?" Jim's lips touched Blair's temple, a moving gesture and a promise to his friend. Blair knew that the slightest sound of negation or pain from him would end what was happening now.

 

Blair grinned. Simon was digging what was going on, judging from the sounds and the soft obscenities groaning out of the big man planted on his cock—and who had such a glorious view of Ellison's ass right now... He could feel Joel settling in behind him, eager and ready. And here, at last, was Jim.

 

Blair closed his lips on the thumbs and sucked them wetly, tonguing between them even as he relaxed his aperture and pushed against the round, smooth acorn-head breaching him from behind. Ah, he was to ride that splendid pony of Taggart's. He raised his ass in raw invitation. Let the man grab him and just _stick_ that magnificent thing in him.

 

Blair jerked and quivered against Taggart's strong arms wrapped around his middle, at the hot slick touch of flesh at his center. The touch got hotter, slicker, bolder, stronger. Taggart, hungry and hot, crooned into Blair's hair as he pushed in, seeking.

 

The thumbs slid out of his mouth and something big and round and hot slid in to take their place. It smelled of Jim, looked like Jim, hadn't he looked often enough on the sly? He swallowed and swallowed, taking down Jim's cock even as his ass slid apart and swallowed down Taggart's cock.

 

Jim heard and smelled the moment when Blair was fully taken. He looked down and saw Blair arched like a flying buttress as Joel's flanks pumped deeply between Blair's legs. Blair's eyes closed, mouth open in passion emitting tiny cries, shoulders braced under the heavier man and sweetly mauled by Joel's kisses and bites. _That's it, kid, show him your stuff, give it up, take it all—_

Joel's free hand traveled over Blair's adornments, plucking at earrings, nipple ring, bracelet, necklace—more finery than most women wore to bed. Now Blair was like something from the Greek statuary in the museum, slender and beautiful under his hands, responding as wildly as a woman to every touch on his body, hairy and hard as any man. His sweet submission made Joel feel virile and omnipotent; Blair's masculinity filled Joel with the triumph of a dark reptile-brain conquest.

 

"Take it, Blair," he moaned, sheathed and wet for the game, exploring high up between that skinny ass. "Oh, take it all, sweet baby."

 

Blair undulated in Simon, sucked Jim on the up-thrust and clenched his ass on Taggart as his fists pulled up on Simon's cock, pulled his mouth up to the head of Jim's cock and released Joel as he pushed into Simon and his fists stripped him down to the root.

 

Three big men closed in over Blair, the smell of the close, hot air rich with sex and testosterone. Three guttural voices whispered over Blair's flesh, what it was doing to them and what they were doing to it. Three big men strained and flexed, taking the sex offered and giving up their sex in return. Three pairs of big hands held Blair at the center of this debauchery—one pair holding Blair's hands wrapped firm around a big cock, one pair locked around his head, one pair gripping his ass. Three big cocks were fucking Blair, fucking his hands, his mouth, his ass.

 

Three big cops fucking him. Oh, God, if Naomi could see him now—like a raw wild power-game fantasy, jailed protestor, three corrupt cops entering his cell, stripping him, laughing in lust as they pulled out their dicks—

 

Simon went first, gasping and spasming as his sperm dribbled over Blair's fingers laced with his own and wrapped tight around his dick.

 

Taggart grunted and pounded Blair's ass swiftly, swiftly, balls knotted and high, shuddering and wailing in the grip of lust. He snapped his hips deep between the reddened, used buttocks and spewed. He jerked the last spurts of cum from his dick, gripping that battered ass; shuddered; slid to the cushions, finished.

 

Blair was still moving, mouthing Jim's cock, sucking it down his throat, his hands now free to grip Jim's haunches, leaving smears of Simon's cum across Jim's loins. Blair's cock still worked in Simon's ass. Taggart's cum dripped down Blair's buttocks and thighs. Fecund little whore—

 

Jim bowed tight over Blair, hands like iron on Blair's head even as Blair's fingers taloned hard into his ass. So the little fuck had been going to waste it all on that bitch Iris? "Take it all, cunt," he whispered, pulling and pushing. "Take my dick in you. Take it!" He forced his cock down Blair's throat again and again, fucking his mouth without letup and without gentleness. All this sex and wantonness under his roof for so long, and he'd done nothing about it—well, never again, never again, when he ached and got hard, he'd go right to that slut's room and pull him away from his desk and grip his hair in both hands and stuff that sweet mouth so full of cock he'd never look outside the loft again for sex—

 

Jim arched, arched and cried as a rainbow exploded before his eyes. The tawny body beneath his rippled, humped like a spasming snake, as the force no man can stop shook Jim from head to heels. _Suck and swallow, suck and swallow, take it Sandburg, finish what you started—_

Blair gasped for breath as Jim's limp fat cock oozed from his mouth, semen dribbling thickly down one corner of his mouth and chin; he gasped and shuddered, damp with sweat and spunk and limp from the heavy use of his body by three big men. He smelled of all three men—and now himself, too, his own sweat and cum smeared on his groin and thighs as he withdrew from the quivering Simon. His eyes closed and his head went back down.

 

The three cops lay down around Sandburg, unconsciously forming a roughly triangular blockade around him.

 

***

 

All four gradually awoke from the post-coital doze, warm and tangled and naked amid sheets that smelled of all of them. Discarded condoms and lube bottles added to the debauched feel of the room.

 

Blair stretched and yawned, sleek and smug as a cat. "Told you that meal was an aphrodisiac." He winced a little, and grinned. He'd have to eat standing up for a long time, but he'd defused that bomb of Joel's.

 

"Too _old_ for this shit," Simon mumbled, stirring awake.

 

"Got three years on you, cowboy," Taggart murmured, lying still and breathing deeply.

 

"Jim?" queried Simon.

 

Jim was on his feet, spreading fresh sheets and blankets on the couch; he was still mouth-wateringly naked. "Simon, you and Joel can flip for Blair's bed, the other one gets the couch." He was as matter-of-fact as if this had been a late-night poker game and everyone was too buzzed to drive home. "Bathroom's back there, the towels and stuff are in the cabinet to the side. Sandburg goes last."

 

"Hey," Blair protested, but very feebly. At least Jim wasn't acting as if he planned to toss Blair out on his ear for this—he was as annoyingly tidy as ever, and despite his matter-of-factness, he was not wearing The Iron Mask that indicated fury. It had been delicious, all of it, and the memories would keep Blair warm for many months of solitary sleep.

 

"That way we've got a fighting chance of having enough hot water and towels for our guests." Jim bent down and helped Simon to his feet.

 

Simon looked his subordinate in the eye; they were both naked and still smeared with each other's semen. "Jim, this can't change anything."

 

Jim smiled. "We're friends, Simon—that didn't change you being my captain, did it?"

 

"Judging by how well you listen to me," Simon grumbled, and Jim laughed. The taller man headed to the bathroom.

 

"Give Simon the bed, needs it for his back," Taggart mumbled, pillowing his head on a sheeted cushion and closing his eyes as the shower started. "I c'n sleep anywhrrr..." and proved it by dozing off again.

 

Blair did a bit of quick math. Simon on his bed, Taggart on the couch, Jim upstairs. That left... Well, the cushions on the floor were comfy enough, and once he stuffed the sheets in the laundry and got his sleeping bag out of his room—

 

He was stopped by a hand wrapped around his upper arm. "Where do you think _you're_ going, Sandburg?" Jim growled, with the first indication of heat since they'd awakened. "Simon's sleeping in there."

 

"Just getting some things out of my room first," Blair replied loftily, keeping his eyes front and center and up.

 

"Fine. Then you can march them upstairs and get your ass on the bed."

 

Blair blinked. "Your bed," he said inanely.

 

"It's the only one up there."

 

Blair stared at Jim, feeling as if he faced a slot machine with three matching BARs screaming and hooting and spewing cash all over his feet. He'd been prepared for a _best_ -case scenario of Jim never mentioning this again...

 

A thump to the side of his head jolted him out of his daze. "Did you hear me, Sandburg?"

 

Blair shook his head to clear out the cobwebs. "I heard you."

 

"Good." Jim spared one downward look toward the dozing Taggart before pulling Blair firmly against his body, jerking his hips hard into Blair's groin. "New house rules, Chief," he whispered, his breath on Blair's face as hot and damp as his hard flesh plastered to Blair's. "You're getting in that bed, right now. And you're not leaving it until I've fucked you. Then you're going to fuck me. And we're not going to stop fucking each other until we're very, very old men. You got a problem with that?"

 

A smile blossomed on Blair's face like an iris blooming. But his voice was sober as he replied.

 

"Jim. You _will_ eventually let me use the bathroom, won't you?"

 

After a moment's pause, with a slight shrug of the head, Jim conceded.


End file.
